


The Illusion of Happiness

by darkbluebox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Apocalypse, Canon Compliant, M/M, Rooftop Kisses, SoftPocalypse, but in a gay way, but not really, just two guys planning for the end of the world together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbluebox/pseuds/darkbluebox
Summary: Andrew’s eidetic memory has left him with all manner of niche and intricate knowledge. Neil wonders how much of it extends to the science of the atom bomb, whether Andrew has impact radius and radiation dosage and survival statistics to pick apart and stitch together into the shape of a real plan. Or maybe he just intends to stare down the apocalypse like he does life, unrelenting even to the atoms ready to tear him apart. Andrew is used to having the whole universe against him; what difference would it make, really?
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 34
Kudos: 131





	The Illusion of Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling some kind of way tonight lads
> 
> Pls do not judge me for my grasp of geography (or lack thereof).
> 
> Content warnings: death mention, cancer mention, general nuclear apocalypse discussion, smoking.

“And then what would you do? After you went back for everyone?”

Andrew takes a long drag from his cigarette as he considers the question. “Depends.”

“On?”

“The kind of apocalypse.”

The sky over Palmetto campus is all purples and reds, swirling together like cotton candy. The evening breeze is so sticky that it barely merits the name, teasing Neil’s curls back from his forehead with undelivered promises of refreshment. Neil fiddles with the cap of his water bottle, debates flicking it off and dumping the contents over his head. Andrew faces down the heatwave like he faces down everything: unflinching, unyielding, undeterred. With the runny, colour pallet sky at his back, he sits like the eye of the silent storm, layered in black from head to toe. He will forsake the sweatbands from time to time when it’s just the two of them, but not today. Shirtless frat boys swarm campus in their droves, tossing frisbees and footballs back and forth as though the quad is their backyard, and the more people strip off in Andrew’s presence the more he seems to pile on in response. The sight of Andrew’s leather jacket makes sweat sting on the back of Neil’s neck, phantom sensations of drowning in the suffocating weight prickling at his arms.

South Carolina is hot, but Neil has known hotter. The rubbery tar of the car park shines three storeys below, but isn’t yet liquid, won’t go gooey and stick to the soles of his sneakers like it would a few hundred kilometres to the south. It’s a drier kind of heat here, too, not the steamy kind that gets into his lungs and chokes out the oxygen until breathing feels more like drowning. Neil doesn’t miss it.

“You have different plans for different apocalypses?” Neil asks. Andrew makes a waggly _eh_ gesture with his hand, the end of the cigarette painting zigzags in the air with the motion.

“Nuclear,” says Neil. “That’s the one your money’s on, right?”

Andrew takes another drag. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the roof.” Neil swings his feet, letting his heels scuff the granite wall over the edge.

Andrew flicks him a look. “When the bomb drops. Where are we?”

Neil considers. “Same answer.”

“And where is the bomb?”

Neil leans forward to rest his chin on his hand. He studies the skyline, mapping out his ground-level knowledge of Palmetto’s buildings and pasting it onto the rise and fall of the horizon. Lights are flickering on as students return to their dormitories, tiny squares of yellow flickering into view like eyes winking open. Neil picks out a dome-shaped roof and points. “Over there.”

“What did the library ever do to you?”

“I have a late-return fine I don’t want to pay.”

Andrew tilts his head to one side. “The bomb drops less than a mile away. I think the only thing any of us is doing at that point is turning into ash.”

“Okay.” Neil reconsiders. “Columbia.”

He can see the calculations ticking over as Andrew’s gaze goes somewhere Neil can’t follow. Andrew’s eidetic memory has left him with all manner of niche and intricate knowledge. Neil wonders how much of it extends to the science of the atom bomb, whether Andrew has impact radius and radiation dosage and survival statistics to pick apart and stitch together into the shape of a real plan. Or maybe he just plans to stare down the apocalypse like he does the heatwave, unrelenting even to the atoms ready to tear him apart. Andrew is used to having the whole universe against him; what difference would it make, really?

“West,” Andrew answers. “I’d take us west.”

“What’s out west?”

“Quiet.”

It takes Neil a moment to realise that it’s an answer, not an instruction. He thinks of the endless, rolling expanses of cornfields eventually giving way to orange dustbowls that stung the skin when the wind picked up. A good place to get lost in, as long as one was happy never to be found.

“We could find a ranch.” Neil loosens the cigarette from Andrew’s inattentive fingers. “One of those run-down barns that has _GOD IS GREAT_ or some shit painted on the roof. Have you ever slept in a hay loft?”

“I’m picturing you in a cowboy hat,” Andrew says by way of answer.

“How do I look?”

“Stupid.”

Neil smiles. “Okay. So, we’d go west.”

Andrew hums. Then, “I’d give up smoking.”

“Ouch,” Neil says emphatically. “Cold turkey?”

“I’m not leaving you on your own.”

Neil feels like he has missed a stage in Andrew’s train of thought, like accidently skipping a step while descending a staircase in the dark. “No?”

“I’m not risking dying before you,” Andrew clarifies. “You’d do all kinds of ridiculous shit if I left you unattended.”

Neil picks out the point on the horizon that he imagines to be Columbia. It probably isn’t – they probably couldn’t see that far even if the light was good – but he pictures it that way all the same. “It wouldn’t be far enough, would it? Columbia.”

“No,” says Andrew. He takes his cigarette back before it can smoulder down to Neil’s fingers. “We’d get cancer. Maybe five years down the line, maybe ten, but we’d get it.”

“So why give up smoking?”

Andrew shrugs. “The illusion of control.” His fingers twitch.

“Is that why you’d take me west? The illusion of control?”

Andrew shakes his head. “A different kind of illusion.” He meets Neil’s eyes long enough to read the silent question, and elaborates with a huff. “Happiness.”

“Ah,” Neil says. “You wouldn’t tell me we were going to die.”

“No,” Andrew answers quietly.

“Except you’re telling me now.”

“Do you see a mushroom cloud on the horizon?”

Neil concedes the point. The apocalypse won’t come from Columbia, at least, not in his opinion, and not in Andrew’s either. They both study the skyline in silence regardless, watching the violent orange glow as it blossoms in their imagination.

“Maybe I don’t want to die first,” Neil says. _It doesn’t seem fair_ , he doesn’t say, because neither of them still believe in _fair_ at all. “You’d do all kinds of ridiculous shit if I left you unattended.”

Andrew huffs. He flicks the smouldering cigarette over the edge, and the cherry-red glow flitters like a shooting star as it plummets to the cooling concrete below. “I suppose we better not leave each other unattended, then.”

“I suppose not,” Neil agrees easily. Then, “I’m not sure there’s such a thing, you know. The illusion of happiness. I figure either you’re happy or you’re not.”

“Would you be?” Andrew asks. “Even if I told you the truth?”

Neil considers. Living with the certainty of imminent death was hardly new to Neil, but living with everyone else’s would be another matter entirely. He considers endless, empty cornfields and smoking shells of downed aircraft. He considers thick vines creeping over skyscrapers and choking them green. He considers deer picking through deserted streets. He considers a ranch in the wilderness, Andrew beating fenceposts into place while the sun dances in the sheen of his sweat. Would he forgo the heavy jacket and the wristbands and the shirt when they were the last two people on earth?

“You’d be there,” Neil answers. “So, yes.”

The sky sinks into heavier purples as they watch, poked apart by pockets of yellow streetlights winking awake.

“Would you?” Neil meets Andrew’s gaze. His eyes flash gold as they reflect the setting sun, the fading beams of light tangling in Andrew’s hair and setting his features alight.

Andrew doesn’t make him finish the question. He presses his answer into Neil’s lips with his own, his kisses salty with beaded sweat, fierce and relentless and all-consuming. Neil’s favourite words come to him in the weight of Andrew’s mouth on his, pressing the shapes of _stay_ and _home_ and even _love_ onto his body with such assuredness that Neil wonders if the world can read them written into his skin. Today, it’s one word which burns hotter than the heatwave and the sunset and the fallout of an atomic bomb all put together.

_Yes._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please drop me a comment & come say hi [on tumblr](https://darkblueboxs.tumblr.com) and [twitter.](https://twitter.com/darkblueboxs)
> 
> Anyone else ready to abandon society and move to a ranch in the wilderness?


End file.
